


Liberatio

by windstar127



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F, Post Awakening, redemption fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windstar127/pseuds/windstar127
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the death of the archdemon and almost two after the start of the blight, Cauthrien finds herself with an unexpected offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberatio

**Author's Note:**

> Cauthrien has always intrigued me as a character, and I wanted to see what I could do with her and the Warden post-game.

Cauthrien stood on the docks of Amaranthine and looked out over the ruins of the city. The scars of the recent darkspawn assaults were clearly visible in the piles of rubble and burnt out husks where buildings once stood. Sailors and dock hands swarmed over the recently arrived ship and unloaded barrels of nails and stacks of lumber. Workmen hurried to and fro, loading supplies onto carts and shouting in several different languages (she could only recognize Orleasian and Ferelden). Amaranthine would rise again from the ashes. She tucked her woolen cloak tighter about her and drew the hood over her head. Surprisingly, no one had recognized her yet, and she hoped it would stay that way.

The ever present drizzle of Ferelden spring had yet to soak through her heavy woolens, but old wounds ached in the damp chill. A gust of wind blew strands of loose hair into her face, and she absently brushed them back with her hand. The air smelled of fresh-turned earth, old smoke from cooking fires, and the salty tang of the Waking Sea. Some people said Ferelden smelled of wet dog, but to her, it smelled of home. She was home, back in a place she never thought she'd see again, after a long year of imprisonment and exile.

After the war, after they stripped her of her rank and finally released her from Fort Drakon, she had traveled far into the Free Marches in search of a fresh start. She knew little except the arts of war, having been a soldier for more than half her life and a farmer's girl before that. There was little work for old soldiers and even less for ones such as her. Tales of the civil war and the Blight spread fast despite (or because of) the turmoil, and there were few places, even in the backwater villages, that had not heard of Teyrn Loghain's betrayal. Fewer had heard of his subsequent redemption in striking the final blow against the archdemon. They had, however, heard of her. Loghain's right hand. Loghain's dragon. Loghain's betrayer, who left him to face the Grey Wardens alone. Her reputation preceded her wherever she went, and there was no reputable work to be had. In desperation she had swallowed what was left of her honor and pride and signed up with a second rate mercenary company that was little more than bandits operating on the outskirts of Kirkwall, selling her sword to the highest bidder.

Day after day of fighting to fill some rich merchant's coffers left a foul taste in her mouth and her purse as meager as before. What coin she managed to earn went to food and lodging in run-down inns and replacing her gear. Her plate mail was long gone, and her suit of chain as well. The once great Ser Cauthrien, a knight no longer, reduced to the life of a common sellsword. How far she had fallen since the day the young golden king of Ferelden knighted her. Her life was no longer measured by duty or honor or pride, but in spilled blood and copper coin. It hurt too much to remember what she had once been and what she had done at her lord's command. Guilt ate away at her soul. She could not live like this, but she could not die like this. There was too much blood on her hands and on her name for her to sing at the Maker's side in the Beyond. So she drowned herself in drink when she was not fighting for her life.

One day, not so very long ago, she was sitting drunk off her ass on rotgut and bad gin in a sleazy tavern in the Lowtown of Kirkwall when a red haired Orleasian bard had approached her and slipped her an envelope of rich creamy parchment before vanishing into the shadows. She had recognized the bard even if she didn't know the woman's name. The bard was one of the Warden's associates, and Maker only knew what she was doing in Kirkwall, in the same tavern as herself.

She had learned that soon enough.

Cauthrien scoffed and reached inside her tunic for a folded sheet of parchment. It had been crisp once, but much handling had turned it soft. The ink in the creases was faded now from repeated folding and unfolding. The message was written in a firm bold hand, more suited to a man than a woman, though the letters were small and neat. She traced the lines with her index finger and mouthed the words silently. By now, she had almost memorized it, but the words still sounded foreign and strange.

~ ~ ~

Ser Cauthrien,

The Crown has seen fit to grant you pardon for your crimes and allow your return to Ferelden on one condition. Upon your arrival on Ferelden soil, you immediately take the Grey. Should you accept this offer, take this letter with you and present it to the captain of the _Silver Flame_ on the docks as a mark of passage. The ship leaves at morning tide, and I will meet you at the docks in Amaranthine. Should you not, simply leave this letter and walk away, and my compatriot will inform me of your decision in due time.

The choice is yours.

By my pen and word,  
Kallian Tabris  
Commander of the Grey of Ferelden

~ ~ ~

The Grey Wardens had opposed her lord but had saved her country when she could not, even when she had stood against them. Theirs was a worthy cause to serve, if she dared let herself join her old enemies. Once, pride might have stopped her, but that had vanished long before she reached Kirkwall. Her lord had joined their ranks and earned his redemption doing so. Blood washed away blood, and even though she could not earn forgiveness, she could pay restitution. She might die in that accursed ritual, but better to die serving than to live the wretched half life of a drunk mercenary. Better that her spilled blood pay for the blood she had spilled than go fatten some scoundrel's purse.

So she had taken the letter to the docks and boarded the ship to return, and now here she was, waiting and hoping it had not been a cruel prank. Cauthrien sighed and grimaced as she slipped the letter back into her pocket. Perhaps the Warden Commander or the Crown had changed their minds, and the only ones waiting for her were the guards to take her back to Fort Drakon.

A large furry blur bounded up to her barking furiously and nudging her hard enough that she almost fell over before she could brace herself. Cauthrien cracked a faint smile as the mabari wagged its stump of a tail and lept up to lick her face. The air now smelled of wet dog in truth, but she didn't mind. She ran her hand through the dog's short dense fur and rubbed its cropped ears. Mabari were so rarely seen outside of Ferelden. It was another sign that she was home again. The dog sat back on its haunches and gave her a silly tongue lolling grin. It had no collar or kaddis but looked too well-fed and well-behaved to be a stray. As if there was such a thing as a stray mabari. No, judging by the scars under the fur, this was a fighting hound, and she did not relish the thought of a confrontation with the warrior bonded to the dog.

"See here, pup," Cauthrien gave the dog a stern (as stern as she could, under the circumstances) glare, "you've had your fun. Now be off with you to your master." The dog ignored her and rolled onto its back, plainly asking her to scratch its belly. She pretended not to notice.

"Mouse! You thrice-blasted hound, get your furry ass back here _now_!" an irate woman's voice cut through the din of the crowds. The dog immediately stood up and whined.

Cauthrien shook her head. "You brought this upon yourself, pup."

A slender hooded figure in a plain grey cloak dodged nimbly through the streets, avoiding carts, sailors, and merchants alike. In another life, Cauthrien would have marked that person as a thief to watch carefully, but that was no longer her duty. The figure stood at the foot of the pier, arms crossed and tapping one foot impatiently. The mabari, with a parting dejected look, padded off the pier to the figure's side.

"You know better than to run off like that, Mouse," the young woman chided her somewhat disloyal mabari. The mabari at least had the good sense to look ashamed, as much as a mabari could. Cauthrien hid a smile behind her hand in spite of herself. She'd always been fond of dogs, even as a child growing up on a farm at the edge of the Wilds. The woman's hood fell back to reveal short cropped black curls and the delicately pointed ears of an elf. Strange that an elf would own a mabari, but Cauthrien didn't have time to dwell on that before the woman met her eyes with a steady gaze. Storm grey eyes with a flicker of silver in their depths, eyes that challenged her first at Howe's estate and then at the Landsmeet. Cold, steel, unforgiving eyes that pierced her soul.

"Warden," Cauthrien whispered.

"I see one set of introduction has become unnecessary," the Warden glared at her dog, who sat back and nodded. "I apologize for the delay, Ser Cauthrien. The runner...got lost..." she spat out those words like a curse to incompetence of messengers everywhere, "so I only just received word of your arrival. If you would please follow me? This is not the best place for an extended conversation."

"I am no knight," Cauthrien shook her head at the use of her old title. "The king stripped me of my rank before..."

"Cauthrien, then," the Warden said with a quirk of a smile. "If you would follow me, Cauthrien? I have a suite of rooms at the Crown and Lion. Not the best, but they owe me a few favors, and their ale is good."

"As you wish," Cauthrien picked up her small but heavy satchel and followed the Warden's lead.

* * *

The Crown and Lion was crowded with merchants and traders seeking to make a quick profit off the reconstruction. Had she been anyone else, the proprietress would have turned her away, but the Warden-Commander of Ferelden was guaranteed the best rooms in the inn for as long as she desired them. That said, her choice of companion still raised plenty of eyebrows. The proprietress had discretely pointed them to a quiet booth hidden in the corner when they entered, but their server was prompt and brought the first round of drinks without being asked. Kallian slipped a few coppers to the girl and nursed her mug of mulled cider as Mouse curled up at her feet. She had to admit, the mabari made for a nice rug.

All things considered, the inn had weathered the siege well. The only signs of visible damage were the scorch marks on the walls and heavy oak rafters. Every table was filled tonight, and from the innkeeper told her this morning, the crowds showed no signs of letting up. They would recoup their losses from the siege and more. A light haze of smoke from the fireplace filled the room mingling with the tantalizing odors of fresh baked bread and roasted meat. Kallian told her stomach to stop growling and instead turned her attention to the woman across from her.

The knight (she would never be able to think of Cauthrien as anything else) sat there, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Calloused hands covered with fine white scars wrapped around the mug of steaming cider. Strands of hair fell free of her ponytail into her gaunt and haggard face. A fresh pink scar ran from the corner of her eye down the right side of her face. The woman was whipcord and bone under her ragged woolen garb, with not an ounce of spare flesh on her. It was strange, almost disconcerting, to see the great Ser Cauthrien reduced to such a state, without the heavy plate and Summer Sword that were so much a part of her.

"Warden," Cauthrien noticed her and looked up, dark brown eyes like chips of agate. "Why?"

There were too many ways to answer that question, Kallian thought, and decided to take the least controversial option. "The Grey Wardens need someone like you. We have warriors and mages aplenty, but we have no experienced commanders. Both her Majesty and Teyrn Loghain said you were one of the best, and your defense of Denerim showed that well enough. It was well worth the time and expense to have Leliana track you down."

"So you would have a war criminal and a traitor leading your troops?" the knight scoffed. "Tell me, Warden, do you always recruit people who to try to kill you?"

"...You could put it like that, I suppose," Kallian hid a grin behind her hand. First Zevran, and then Loghain and Nathaniel, and now Ser Cauthrien. Hell, Velenna might even count to some extent. It was frankly easier to count the number of people who hadn't tried to kill her. Cauthrien, though, did not look like she believed it. "I need competent people in the Grey Wardens more than I need people who like me if I want the Order to last in Ferelden after I'm gone."

"You're what, all of twenty years old?" the knight studied her face intently. "You have time enough to learn how to lead, though you're doing a fair job already from what I've seen. So why go to all that trouble for a worthless piece of scum like me? You know what I did." Bitterness and pain coated every word.

"I know perhaps more that most," Kallian agreed. "I don't have to like you or what you did, ser knight, but I know the Grey Wardens need you. Tell me, how long did it take you to learn the art of command?"

"From when milord started training me?" Cauthrien's voice choked at the mention of Loghain. "Ten years, perhaps."

"I don't have that time, you see," Kallian set her mug on the table and shrugged. "Wardens who fight a Blight don't live so long. I have ten years, fifteen if I'm lucky, before the Taint kills me. By the time I learn everything I need to, I'd be dead. That's why I had Leliana track you down. You have the skill and experience the Wardens need now."

"I see indeed..." A flicker of sorrow, or was it disappointment, passed through the knight's steady gaze.

They were spared from further awkward questions and even more awkward answers by the arrival of the serving maid with platters of roast pork and potatoes. Kallian was almost done with her second serving before she noticed Cauthrien watching her with a look of amusement bordering on dismay. She hastily swallowed the bite of gristle and wiped the traces gravy from her mouth.

"It's a side effect of the Taint," she explained, trying to regain some sense of dignity. "I don't always eat like this." Cauthrien, she noted, was barely picking at her food and, judging from the noises under the table, had been surreptitiously slipping tidbits to the dog.

"Duly noted," Cauthrien said with the faintest hint of a smile.

Kallian resisted the urge to make a rude gesture and instead polished off what remained of her dinner, mopping up the last drops of gravy with a piece of crust bread. She did, however, order a dozen of the inn's fried apple fritters drizzled with honey and two tankards of ale. The fritters disappeared faster than the pork had, but this time she wasn't the cause. "They don't serve these in the Free Marches, I take it?" she asked the knight with a smirk.

"None that I could afford," Cauthrien set down the pastry in her hand and turned away.

Maker, even Sten had been easier to talk to. Kallian stopped any further attempts to hold a conversation and brooded over her ale.

They retired upstairs not long after the fritters and ale were gone. Neither of them were much for the company of others in the tavern, it seemed. Kallian opened the door to the suite reserved for Grey Wardens passing through Amaranthine. By this point, the suite was as familiar to her as her own rooms back at Vigil's Keep. The servants had come through already for a fire burned merrily in the large fireplace set against the far wall, and her spare armor and weapons sat gleaming in their stands. Two doors opened off of the parlor into a pair of identical bedrooms. Mouse immediately made himself comfortable and rolled around on the rug before the fire. Cauthrien followed them in, her travel stained and worn clothing looking shabbier than ever against the relative splendor of the inn. She stood by the door, almost as if she was afraid to enter any further, and watched Kallian.

"Your room's on the left," Kallian said as she draped her cloak over an armchair and headed towards her usual room. "There's a bathing room attached to each bedroom. If you need extra clothes or anything, there's probably be some in the trunks, so just help yourself. You look like you're about the same size as Nathaniel, so they should fit."

"Nathaniel?"

"Nathaniel Howe," Kallian shrugged, one hand on the doorknob to her room. "They caught him sneaking around in Vigil's Keep before I showed up and left him for me to deal with. Guess none of them figured I'd choose to keep him around as a Grey Warden. He's the only other one who stays in Amaranthine for any amount of time, so I know he has spare clothes stashed here. He won't mind if you borrow them, I'm sure."

"I see, Warden," a faint smile cracked Cauthrien's otherwise stern countenance. "You weren't jesting earlier after all."

"Kallian, if you would, or just Kal. Or, if you'd like to follow Nathaniel's bad habits, Tabris, which is only fair, since I call him Howe half the time." she corrected Cauthrien with lopsided grin. "It's only 'Warden' when there's a crisis to deal with, and it is, frankly, too late for a crisis right now."

"Tabris, then," Cauthrien nodded politely.

That was something, at least.

"In any case, we'll have an early start tomorrow. I want to get back before the patrols do. I'll see you in the morning," Kallian was about to close the door behind her but stopped at the last second. "Good night, Cauthrien," she said quietly and ducked back inside her room before she could hear Cauthrien's response.

* * *

A piercing unfamiliar scream cut through the still night. Kallian woke, startled. She reached for the dagger under her pillow and tumbled out of bed in a tangle of nightshift and blankets. Mouse pawed at the door and whined at her. Trouble, but of what sort she didn't know. Not darkspawn, at least. She would have sensed that already. She made a motion for the dog to hush and opened her bedroom door, careful to stay in the shadows. The floor was icy cold under her bare feet. The parlor was dark, with the last embers of the fire smoldering in the grate. It was late then, past midnight certainly, and maybe a few hours to dawn. There were no signs of unusual movements or sounds that she could sense. Mouse, though, bounded across the parlor to the door to the other bedroom, sat down, and just looked at her with beseeching eyes. There came another tortured scream from behind the door that slowly died into broken sobs. Kallian glared at the dog.

"Not my problem," she mouthed silently at the dog and turned to go back to bed. She'd been with the Wardens long enough to recognize night terrors when she heard them. Her own nightmares were bothersome enough. She neither needed to nor wanted to deal with someone else's.

(Dark brown eyes, so tired and worn, so full of guilt and pain and exhaustion, but somehow still determined and as cold and hard as steel. So much like Shianni, so very much like Shianni.)

Kallian sighed and nudged her dog away from the door none too gently with her foot. "Fine, fine, you win, you mangy mutt. I'll check up on her."

Mouse gave her a wide doggy grin, all tongue and teeth, and licked her hand. Kallian shook her head ruefully. She could slay darkspawn by the dozens, manipulate sullen nobles, and win a crown for a bastard prince, but she couldn't win an argument with her dog. Such was her life.

The door wasn't locked. Kallian slipped through and closed it behind her with a soft click. Ambient streetlights and moonlight streamed in from the unshuttered window, and in the corner of the bed, curled up and shivering, was Cauthrien, her dark hair damp with sweat and her pale face streaked with tears. Despite the chill in the air, she lay clad only in a thin nightshift, and her blankets lay in a haphazard pile on the floor where they had been thrown.

"No, my lord, you cannot," the words came out in half choked sobs and whispers. "But the king...but...no...milord, no..."

Silent steps took Kallian to the sleeping woman's side. Cauthrien did not wake, so lost was she in a web of dreams. She cried out again, as if in pain, and flung out her hand to reach for a weapon that was not there. Quietly, almost stealthily, Kallian picked up a fallen blanket and draped it over the knight.

"The war's over, Cauthrien," Kallian said as she placed one hand on Cauthrien's shoulder. "The Blight is over. You're dreaming. It's only a dream." Cauthrien jerked back at the light contact, and her eyes flew wide open.

"You! What are you... Why are you...why are you here, Warden?" Cauthrien drew several deep breaths before answering, her voice strained with conflicting emotions. Anger and irritation flashed dangerously in her dark eyes despite her trembling voice.

"I...I heard you screaming and thought something was the matter."

"It was only a nightmare," Cauthrien sat up and glared at her. "You didn't need to bother. I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," Kallian snapped. "Is it too much to think that I might feel responsible for you?"

"Why? You hate me, or you should, if you had any sense."

"Thank the Maker I don't then!" Kallian stood up and glared back.

Steel grey eyes met stony brown ones, with neither of them willing to back down an inch. The air between them grew thick with tension. Cauthrien flinched at the unyielding pressure of her gaze, and Kallian realized then that behind the armor of anger, the knight was far more fragile than she had seemed at first. She could break Cauthrien's will with a few well placed words if she wanted. The mere thought of it made her stomach churn.

"I just thought that after dragging you here from Maker knows where, this was the least I could do," Kallian looked aside first. "Most Wardens have nightmares, pretty bad ones, for the first few years after their Joining. Mine have mostly gone away by now, thankfully, but I remember what it was like not being able to sleep."

"What were they of?"

"During the Blight, mostly the Archdemon. I could hear him, not very clearly, but I could feel him controlling the darkspawn and trying to control me. Now it's usually just fighting waves and waves of darkspawn until I die or turn into a broodmother," Kallian said, perching on the edge of the bed. "They're what women with the Taint turn into," she explained upon seeing Cauthrien's puzzled expression. "Hideous things that birth more darkspawn. You find only find them in the Deep Roads for the most part. Best I can hope for is to die first, but seeing how I carry on, that's pretty likely. You?"

"Nothing quite so...extravagant as yours, I'm afraid," Cauthrien managed a wan smile. "Every night, I watch them die. Milord Loghain. King Cailan. The men who followed me at Ostagar and in Denerim. The farmers whose fields I burned. Sometimes I'm the one who kill them. Sometimes I'm just standing aside and watching. It doesn't matter. It never does. They die, and I can do nothing to stop it." Cauthrien's voice cracked but did not break. "I hear them. Every night I hear them asking me why I failed, why I couldn't protect them. I'd welcome dreams of fighting darkspawn if it makes the voices stop."

Dark brown eyes turned from agate chips to chasms of desolation and despair, and for a fleeting moment, Kallian wanted to do nothing more than to throw her arms around the knight, to hold her close and comfort her as she would Shianni. But Cauthrien was not Shianni. Cauthrien, the cold logical part of her brain whispered, was responsible for all those deaths and more. Remember what atrocities she committed in the name of the Lord Regent. Cauthrien deserved that guilt, every last drop of it. But the woman sitting there with drying tears on her face wasn't the knight who challenged her at Rendon Howe's estate and the Landsmeet. That knight, loyal, unwavering, steadfast, was dead, another casualty of the war and the Blight, and before her was a woman who was yet another victim of Loghain's mad schemes and Howe's depravity.

Cauthrien bowed her head, tangled locks of dark hair falling in her face and hiding her eyes. "You should hate me, and I don't know why you don't," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Maybe I don't want to," Kallian said as she took Cauthrien's cold hand in hers. "Maybe I think you should get another chance. To make right what went wrong. Does that bother you?"

Cauthrien did not answer, but neither did she pull away. Eventually, after a long silence as cold and dark as the room, she lifted up her head. "I don't deserve it," she whispered. "Answer me this, Warden, why do you care what happens to me? There are others, better than me and without the stain of treason. I am worthless, so why do you waste your time?"

"To pay back a debt. You were...honorable...when others weren't. I owe you, for what you did in Fort Drakon."

"I had you imprisoned. Milord would have ordered you tortured and executed as Orleasian spies had you not escaped."

"You also told the guards that I wasn't to be touched until Loghain's orders came. Do you remember that? Because I do." Kallian's voice grew cold and her eyes distant. "Those men, Howe's men, were leering at me, talking about how fun it would be to have an female elf to play with. How entertaining I would be when I had a real man inside of me. And then you walked in, in full plate with that sword across your back like a knight out of an old tale, and you told them that if they laid a hand on me, you'd kill them yourself."

"I..."

"I believe your exact words were 'If you so much lay a finger on her, I'll cut off your head and cram your cock down your throat.'"

"You remembered that?" Cauthrien's expression turned to a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. "Of all the things that happened, _that's_ what you remember?"

"Well...yes. You could have let them take me and use me until I died. It was well within your power to. No one would have asked any questions. Hell, Loghain might have even thanked you for removing me. That you didn't...that tells me the sort of person you are. Rendon Howe would have taken pleasure in watching me die like that."

"You were a worthy opponent, for all that we were enemies. You deserved better than that."

"And you deserve better than this."

"You spared me once before, at the Landsmeet. Surely that repaid this debt you claim."

"That was because I wasn't about to fight a fight I could avoid when I didn't know what was going to happen behind those doors. For all I knew, there could have been an ambush. I wasn't going to waste resources fighting someone I could talk down. No. I spared you out of expediency, but I'm giving you a second chance now because I owe you."

"I...you're a very strange woman, Tabris," a barest hint of a smile hovered on Cauthrien's lips.

"So I've been told. Many times," Kallian replied with a grin. "Sometimes it's even meant as a compliment."

"MILADY! MILADY WARDEN! It's an emergency!" Frantic shouting and hurried footsteps came up the stairs followed by the sounds of someone pounding at the door. Mouse barked a warning in response.

The tentative peace in room fractured. Kallian leapt up and reached for the door. "Damn," she spat, turning to the knight. "As it turns out, it's apparently not too late for a crisis. I'm sorry to do this to you, but get ready for a night march. Chances are, we'll need to leave within the hour."

Cauthrien, already out of bed and gathering her clothing and belongings, nodded in acknowledgement.

* * *

Cauthrien was in the middle of pulling on a pair of borrowed trousers when the door to her room slammed open hard enough that the walls shook. A very irate elven woman wearing nothing more than a nightshift and slippers stormed in, eyes blazing. A small part of Cauthrien's mind noticed that the thin nightshift Tabris wore left very little to the imagination. The rest of her mind immediately shut down that train of thought.

"Maker damn them to bowels of the Black City itself," Tabris snarled and glared at her. "Bandits attacked a village half a day west of here. We're the nearest reinforcements."

Somewhere between the second sentence and the third, both she and Tabris realized that she was still in her smallclothes. As she watched, the Warden transformed from a seasoned soldier to an awkward blushing girl. A pink flush crept up the elf's face all the way to the delicate tips of her ears.

"My apologies," Tabris stammered before beating a hasty retreat. The door slammed closed behind her.

Cauthrien cursed and fastened the laces of her trousers before she could embarrass herself further. A decade and a half of being a soldier meant she had little sense of modesty to offend. After all, this was far from the first time someone had walked in on her while she was changing. But none of them had been a young and particularly striking elf who trusted all too easily and did not hate nearly enough. It wasn't the quiet acceptance of her past that made Cauthrien feel uneasy now but the glint of appreciation she saw in those intense grey eyes before the Warden had left the room. She had a soldier's body and a soldier's scars, and experience had taught her that few people, men or women, ever found her attractive. She was too tall, too blunt, too homely, but Tabris, it seemed, was a rule unto herself.

She chose not to dwell on those thoughts but instead sorted through her belongings for anything salvageable. Two weeks of hard travel left her little in the way of clean clothes, and she was thankful that the clothing in the trunk fit as well as Tabris had thought it would. She stuffed a spare shirt and the few personal items she still had into the leather pack she had found in the trunk. If they were lending her clothing, surely they would not mind lending her a sturdier pack as well.

Tabris looked up from the map spread out over the low table as Cauthrien stepped into the parlor. The nightshift and slippers had been replaced by a set of plain dusky grey leathers just a few shades darker than her eyes. A pair of daggers gird about her slim hips, and the faint outlines of sheaths in her boots and at her wrists suggested more hidden on her. A bowstave as tall as the elf leaned against the chair next to a pair of rolled bedrolls. What space on the table not covered by the map was covered by neatly labeled packets of supplies.

"What weapons do you prefer?" Tabris looked her up and down and asked. The only sign of her earlier blushing were the still pink tips of her ears peaking out from behind unruly locks.

"Zweihander," Cauthrien said, thinking of her lost Summer Sword with a pang of regret, "but any sword will do."

"Armor?"

"Chain, the lighter the better." Only green knights intent on impressing idiots traveled in full plate, and one trip was often enough to rid them of that habit.

"Good," Tabris nodded at her choices. "There's a small armory in my room. Take what you need. It's mostly lighter gear since Howe and I are the ones who stay here, but it should do for now. We'll get you a better kit when we get back to the Keep."

The Warden's room was as neat and utilitarian as the woman herself, all leather and steel with few personal touches. The mabari sprawled on the floor asked for a belly rub before it would let her approach the stands of armor and racks of weapons. Small, in the case, was a relative term. The gleaming rippled steel of the swords on the wall and the lyrium infused armor were a far cry from the crude iron blades and boiled leather she had grown used to over the last year. She picked the heaviest of the swords, a hand-and-a-half sword with a plain wire wrapped hilt that sung through the air when she swung it. One set of chainmail was as good as another, and she pulled on an arming jacket before tugging a chain shirt over her head. As usual, even tied back and bound, her hair caught in the metal rings.

Tabris smiled at her when she walked into the parlor again. "You look good," the elf said simply before she turned back to sorting and packing necessities. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes," Cauthrien tried to return the smile, with limited success. In armor, with a sword at her side, she felt like she had not in a very long time, but the weight on her shoulders was unfamiliar now. She was not what she once was. Tabris, though, either did not notice or did not care.

"I took the liberty of packing the rest of your supplies," Tabris strapped a bedroll to the top of a pack and tossed the whole thing at her. She caught it awkwardly, not quite expecting the weight. "We can pick up provisions on the way out. They always have a week of trail rations on hand for this sort of thing."

"Do you have news of the situation?" Cauthrien asked, hefting the pack before slinging it across her back.

"It's about what you'd expect," Tabris shrugged. "Bandits hit Ashmere late last night. No real numbers, but I'd guess no more than a few dozen. Hard to supply a band larger than that without being noticed. Started with the outlying households and worked their way through the place. Messenger's a boy from the village, maybe fourteen or so. Played dead long enough to escape and ran all the way here because there's no soldiers anywhere nearer."

"You have no men patrolling the region?" Cauthrien asked with a bite in her voice. The banns never had enough men to protect the farms at the edge of their lands, not when she was a child and not when she was a solider.

"What men?" the Warden scoffed. "Between the Blight, the war, and the sieges, there's barely enough able-bodied soldiers to patrol Pilgrim's Path and Amaranthine, much less the farmland and the coast. I've sent word to the Amaranthine garrison to send a patrol out as soon as they can spare one."

"What of the Wardens then? Surely you could..."

"What do you think we're doing? There are six of us to protect all of Ferelden!" Tabris slammed her hand on the table, "We can't be everywhere. At least this time we can try to save what's left of Ashmere. What more would you have me do?"

"I...my apologies, Warden," Cauthrien stopped at the defeated and desperate tone in Tabris's voice. So few. She had not realized there were so few Grey Wardens. She had thought, after the war, people would have flocked to join the Grey Wardens. In a different world, she herself might have been one of them. "I overstepped my bounds."

"It doesn't matter," Tabris said, shaking her head. "It never does. Whatever I do, it's never enough." In that moment, Tabris looked for all the world like a lost and frightened child. The elf sighed and picked up the pack on the floor. "In any case, the sooner we leave, the better chance we have of catching those bastards. For what good it does. Come on, Mouse. Let's go."

* * *

In the hours just before dawn, the world was tranquil, as if it had seen neither war nor Blight. Distant waves crashed and broke upon the rocky cliffs, and the stars faded as the sky lightened. They made good time traveling along the coastal road through sleepy villages and hamlets, stopping only briefly to eat and drink. Tabris set a hard, almost punishing pace, and Cauthrien grew used to the weight of her armor and the leather straps digging into her shoulders. It was a familiar feeling, and she felt almost like a soldier again. As the sun's rays peeked over the horizon and tinted the sky a pale rose, Tabris took them off the main road onto a narrow path leading down to the shore. Plumes of smoke rose the distance. Tabris said nothing but quickened her steps. They paused to rest in a sheltered cove near the foot of the path, and Cauthrien watched the elf sit and stare out over the sea with the mabari at her feet.

"Warden?" she asked softly.

"Huh?" Tabris looked startled at her interruption. "I'm sorry, Cauthrien, did you need me?"

"I just wanted to apologize for what I said earlier. I did not mean..."

"You don't need to apologize for saying the truth," Tabris stared back out over the water. "Because it is true. I have no idea what I'm doing, and all I can hope for is to not mangle things beyond repair. I don't know how to run an army or an arling or the Grey Wardens. I'm letting people die because I don't have the resources to save them. What good is being the sodding Hero of Ferelden when I can't save my own people?" Her voice trailed off into nothingness, and her eyes grew cold.

(What good was being a knight when she couldn't save her lord or her king?)

"Sitting here won't do anyone any good," Tabris said after a long silence, pushing herself up from the rocks. "We'd best be off."

They headed in the direction of the smoke and reached the first of the burnt out buildings by full sun. The rocky shores weren't the plowed fields of the Bannorn, but the stench of charred wood and charred flesh was the same. Cauthrien tried to ignore the misshapen twisted lumps that had once been people as they picked their way through the ruins of a fishing family's homestead.

(She torched the fields and killed the farmers. Their blood was on her hands.)

She was no green recruit and in her fifteen years of soldiering had seen her fair share and more of the wreckage left behind by bandits, pirates, and the rest of their ilk. It never got any easier. Not when it could have been her family. Had been her family.

A trail of churned mud led away from the ruined cottage. At least the bandits didn't bother to hide their tracks. The mabari sniffed at the smoldering wood and bodies and then at the trail and growled low and menacingly. Tabris laid a hand on the dog's head to calm him.

"I guess we're too late after all," Tabris said, her voice harsh with anger. "I'll scout ahead. Mouse will stay with you. I shouldn't take too long. It's not a very big village, just ten, maybe fifteen, families spread out along this stretch of coast. Find someplace to hide until I come back. Chainmail and dogs make too much noise."

"And if you don't?" Cauthrien hated herself for asking, but she'd been a soldier for too long to not plan for the worst.

"If I'm not back by noon, then you and Mouse will head to Vigil's Keep without me," Tabris shrugged. "I left notes. They'll be expecting you. But I guess since an Archdemon had trouble killing me, a handful of bandits might too." With that parting comment, the elf slipped into the shadows by the rocks and faded from sight.

A small cave tucked along the base of the cliffs provided an adequate location to sit and wait for Tabris. All she had to do was ignore the rag doll in the corner and the battered clay pottery on the ledge waiting for owners that would never return. She couldn't. The ghostly voices of the dead children joined the others haunting her. She stumbled outside and retched into a clump of bushes until all that was left were dry heaves. The mabari licked at her hand in a vain attempt to comfort her. Tabris found her later, sitting in the back of the cave, knees tucked to her chest and tear-streaked face white as death, with the mabari leaning against her. A cool hand, slender and calloused, cupped her cheek, and she stared into clear grey eyes.

"Cauthrien," Tabris's voice was calm and gentle. "I need you. The bastards who did this have holed up in the village chantry to enjoy their spoils. They have some captives, mostly women and children, locked in one of the storage huts. There's near two dozen of them, led by someone by the name of Ser Hereward." She spat out the title like the word was poison. "Have you heard of him, perhaps?"

"He...he was one of Rendon Howe's retainers." The inherent command in that silvery voice woke her from her grief. Cauthrien steeled herself and gathered her thoughts. "A wastrel and a cad, a bastard in all senses of the word. He was in Maric's Shield once, until I had him courtmartialed and expelled for cowardice and insubordination. Arl Howe...convinced milord to reinstate him. By that time, milord...milord was desperate enough to do so."

"I see," Tabris knelt beside her and and began drawing a crude map of the village in the sand with her finger. "If you're curious, I'd say he hasn't gotten any more competent. The main village is a cluster of a dozen buildings by the docks, including the storage and smoking sheds, arranged like so. Maybe 200 feet across total from one end to the other. The Chantry is in the center, built against the cliff face. There were four men at the far borders on sentry duty, another four guarding the shed where the captives are, and two more outside the Chantry itself. That accounts for close to half their force. Of the rest, I'd say three to four are picking through the houses for anything of value they missed the first time around, and the others are...enjoying themselves in the Chantry. Most of them are in leather or hide armor, a few in chain. I didn't get a glimpse of Hereward, but he might have better armor than that. Weapons are mostly bows and short or longswords, not many shield fighters. From what I overheard, there's a good chance Hereward has an apostate working for him. Might be why they're still around. With this many people, you could..." Tabris stopped and looked at her. "Suggestions? Before we have demons and abominations breathing down our necks?"

"You trust me enough for that? Even as I am now?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have tracked you down otherwise."

"Take out the sentries first. If they didn't see you earlier, they won't see you now," Cauthrien said, eyes and voice growing hard. This was familiar, easy and straightforward, even, compared to what she had done during the war. One village. Two dozen bandits, give or take. It was almost like her first command. She had a full squad of ten back then, not just an elf and her mabari. "How many can you kill before they notice you?" she asked the Warden.

"Call it three of the sentries and two of the looters at least. Maybe more. They're fat and happy and not paying attention or signaling. They didn't think anyone got away or that Amaranthine could send anyone so fast." Tabris leaned back against the cave wall and grinned at her.

"If you lend me the dog, I will deal with freeing the captives," Cauthrien rested her hand on the mabari's broad head. "That will give you enough time to kill the rest of them."

"Done," Tabris agreed. "What do you want to do about the ones in the Chantry?"

"Likely they'll hear the ruckus and come out, and we kill them one by one. I don't want to assault a fortified position unless there's no other choice."

"Fair enough," Tabris nodded. "If it comes to that, I'll find us another way in."

"Warden, a request if I may?"

"Of course, Cauthrien."

"Hereward is mine," she said bitterly. "If I had executed him, this would not have occurred. So let me be the one to pay this debt."

"Is that all?" Tabris stretched like a lean and dangerous cat and smirked at her. "You didn't need to ask, you know. I'd have left him for you anyways. Shall we?"

* * *

In broad daylight without cover was not how she liked to operate, but there was nothing that could be done about it now. Kallian stayed close to the cliff face, in the shadows, and moved from outcropping to outcropping, always staying hidden. Her slate grey leathers blended in with the rock, and the sentry did not see her approach. Her throwing dagger landed the first kill. It was a clean hit, and the man went down a sullen thud. She moved in and cleaned the knife on his tunic before sheathing it. A looter came next, with a knife to the ribs, just so to hit the heart, as he steps out the door. Good kills, silent kills, just like how Zevran had taught her. The guards hadn't noticed her yet. The was one last sentry on this side, and she slipped around the burnt out husk of a cottage to wait for a clear line. Another dagger and another kill.

Kallian watched from the shadows as her mabari bounded out from behind rocks along the waterline and ripped a man's throat out. His screams ended in a gurgle of blood. She loved her dog dearly, but Mouse did not understand subtlety. Cauthrien launched herself into battle with a fierce war cry, holding her sword in a two handed grip. The bandits guarding captives in the storage shed rushed her. Perhaps they thought a single fighter was no match for them, but they were sadly mistaken. Cauthrien fought methodically, like she was just doing a drill on the practice ground with picture perfect motions out of an instruction manual. She cut down the two bandits with a wet crunch of metal cutting through flesh and bone as two more appeared from behind the sheds. Kallian caught a glimpse of the knight's eyes, all cold agate and emotionless in a blood-splattered face. So this is what Loghain's Dragon looked like on the field of battle. Mouse joined the fray then, and leather armor was little protection against a full grown mabari. The sounds of combat drew the attention of the two men by the chantry door.

Kallian waited and counted to five. All the attention was on the two fighting in the square. She dove and rolled behind the line, knives finding throats and vital places not covered by armor and ignoring the screams and the blood and other bodily fluids. Cauthrien switched between slashing and thrusting strikes with ease, gutting one man like a fish and stabbing another one in the throat. And then there were only corpses. Kallian paused, wiping blood and sweat from her face. Dark brown eyes like smoldering embers watched her. She gave the knight a pert grin, and then more men came stumbling out of the chantry, an unruly mob, half dressed with no armor and weapons in hand.

She faded behind a building. The bandits advanced, but broke when the knight and the mabari charged them. One or two fall back and flee, to where, she didn't know and didn't care. Kallian snuck around the far side of the cottages, one eye on the chantry door. For a moment, she considered breaking cover, but Cauthrien and Mouse didn't need her help just yet. Cauthrien in combat was mesmerizing, all steel and smooth movements like a dance. If only they'd been allies instead of enemies during the Blight, but now was not the time for daydreaming or lallygagging about. The feel of magic in the air made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A quick glance around the corner and she broke from cover to rush the mage. Her dagger clashed on invisible armor hard as rock. A gout of flame left the mage's hands, burning friend and foe alike. Kallian threw herself flat against the ground and hoped that Cauthrien and mouse moved out of harm's way in time. The apostate focused his attention on her instead of the fighters. Sharp icicles tore through her leathers and left cuts on her arms and face. She tucked and rolled behind the mage, driving her dagger into his kidney and then slitting his throat before stepping back into the shadows.

Through the din of combat, she heard a child's thin pitiful cry. Kallian pressed herself flat against the rough hewn stone wall and peeked around the corner.

A man in his late twenties with a perpetual sneer and lank blonde hair sauntered out of the chantry dragging an elven girl by the hair. The girl was young, no more than ten or twelve years old. The short sleeveless smock she wore did nothing to hide the numerous bruises on scrapes on her legs and arms and face. Despite the rising rage in her heart, Kallian forced herself to stay quiet and still. The man held a knife to the girl's throat, pressing just enough to break skin, and the girl squeaked like a frightened rabbit.

"Hereward," Cauthrien's voice was sharp and hard enough to cut glass. The knight stood in the center of the village square, hair loose and armor covered in blood and gore, with her sword at guard.

"Why if it isn't Loghain's slut," the man laughed, a cruel mocking laugh. "I thought you'd run away with your tail between your legs, mongrel bitch."

"And I thought you'd have drowned in your own piss by now." Cauthrien said, emotionless.

"Ah, the great Ser Cauthrien, as charming as ever. No doubt what you're here for. Who hired you, I wonder? That knife-ear noble-killing whore of a Grey Warden?"

"Say your piece and be done, Hereward."

"A simple deal. Let me go, and this little knife-ear lives," Hereward shoved the girl forward, "but move any closer, and I slit its throat."

"You say that like you think it matters to me," Cauthrien said after a barely imperceptible pause.

"But it does, does it not? You always nattered on about protecting innocents, did you not? Will you watch it die?"

"Where did you get the girl?" Cauthrien asked casually. From her vantage point in the shadows, Kallian watched Cauthrien's hands tremble, but the knight's voice was steady.

"Denerim. I paid the Tevinters a whole ten silver for it," Hereward smirked. "A waste of ten silver, if you ask me, but it's finally useful now. About time too."

The Tevinters would have sold her father had she not arrived in time and did sell so many others she knew and loved. Valora, Nessa, Valendrian. She was too late to save them, but she wasn't too late now. The shem murdered her mother and raped her cousin, and she couldn't stop them because she was too young and inexperienced. This shem, this shem with his filthy hands on the girl, was going to learn that not all elves were so helpless and that traumatized little girls grow up to be Grey Wardens.

He would pay for every strike, every blow, every moment of terror he inflicted on that child, and the Maker have mercy on his soul for she had none.

"Let the girl go now, and you might be shown mercy."

"No," Hereward yanked the girl's head back. The girl whimpered, blue eyes wide with terror. "It is insurance for my safety. It is also my property, so rest assured I'll keep it alive after I leave."

The madness in the man's eyes told Kallian that he had no intention of letting the girl live.

"Perhaps you didn't hear the first time," Kallian stepped out from the shadowed eaves of a ruined cottage. A red haze of rage passed before her eyes, and the dagger left her hand without another thought. "LET. HER. GO."

Pandemonium erupted. Kallian leapt out from cover and charged the man before she could see if her aim was true. The girl collapsed bonelessly into a heap on the ground, and she prayed she had not miscalculated her throw. Hereward howled with pain and yanked her dagger from his arm. He wasn't prepared for her attack. She drove her dagger hilt deep into his belly and twisted. Mouse dragged the girl away from the thrashing man, with Cauthrien half a step behind him.

Hereward clutched at the hilt and fell back, eyes widening with pain and surprise. She pulled out her dagger and stabbed again, lower this time. Metal and flesh parted like fabric under the keen edge of her blade, and she took perverse pleasure in severing parts of his anatomy. He screamed incoherently as a dark stain spread from the crotch of his trousers. She stepped forward and stood over him with an expression that might have been a smile and then sliced off his lips and nose with quick flicks of her dagger. Hereward chocked on his own blood as she watched. She savored the terror in his eyes, the same sort of terror he inflicted on the child, before she stabbed them out. Dark viscous fluids dripped from her daggers.

"Warden," Cauthrien's voice, low and quiet, brought her closer to her senses. Kallian recognized the growing horror and dismay in the knight's dark eyes. "Warden, you promised his life to me."

"I...I did," Kallian said, stepping back from the gory mess that had once been a man. It twitched feebly on the ground and made wordless wet noises. She swallowed a whimper, her gorge rising at what she had done.

Cauthrien, without another word, strode over and slit Hereward's throat, putting him out of his misery.

* * *

Cauthrien sat in an unoccupied corner of the chantry, wincing as she spread the potent elfroot salve over her blistered arm and tied a clumsy dressing on it with one hand. The rush of battle had long since worn off, and the exhaustion settled in her bones. The promised patrol from Amaranthine arrived not long before midday, and the task of restoring order to the ruined village was handed off to a grizzled sergeant of the Rebellion who treated them all, the Warden-Commander included, like wet behind the ears puppies incapable of wiping their noses and bottoms. There was time enough now to rest and recover, to scrub the gore of the battlefield off her skin and hair and treat the inevitable bruises and scrapes, before they needed to head out again.

The bandits were dead, every last one, and their bodies were stacked like firewood in the village square waiting to be burned. She'd given the few who survived the initial encounter mercy strokes while the Warden tended to the survivors of the raid. They had found thirty some-odd frightened fisherfolk crammed into the storage sheds, mostly mothers and young children with a handful of greybeards and surly youths at the cusp of adulthood, and a dozen young women, bound and gagged and in various states of undress, in the chantry. The priest was dead, as was the village headman. Of a thriving village, less than half had survived. The remaining families clustered together to mourn their dead and salvage what they could from the ruins of their homes. Maybe they could rebuild, but more likely than not, the village would be abandoned as the survivors fled elsewhere.

But that thought troubled her less than the wild madness and unbridled hatred she had seen in the Warden's eyes as the elf so casually maimed and tortured a man. She had seen such hatred only once before, in the eyes of her lord when he had spoke of the Orlesians and what they did, and that hatred had consumed him. The memories of it rankled in her heart. Teyrn Loghain's hatred of Orlais had driven him to madness and to betray all that he had once held dear, and she could neither stop nor save him. Cauthrien sighed and rested her elbows on the table, but a feather light touch on her shoulder made her turn around.

"Here, let me," Tabris sat next to her with a faint smile, her dark curls still newly damp from the baths. Thin pink cuts, already closed and starting to heal, marred her cheek and brow. The madness in her eyes was gone now, replaced by weariness. Clever fingers deftly smoothed and retied Cauthrien's bandages, lingering a second too long. "I...I owe you an apology of sorts. Or an explanation. Or both. I...I frightened you, I think, and I'm sorry. I saw what Hereward did, and I lost control. I wanted him to hurt, to suffer, and I went too far. I know I did. I'm sorry. Thank you for stopping me. Before I went any further. Before I lost myself entirely." Tabris's voice was low and sincere, and sounded just as tired as she herself felt.

"I...had not thought you capable of such actions..." Cauthrien admitted quietly. "I had thought you too...honorable...for that." But her lord, too, had once been an honorable man, and he would not have stopped at her words. Had not stopped at her words.

"My father was almost sold by slavers, and my cousin was raped by a sorry excuse for a shem lordling," Tabris stared at the table, her voice flat and dull. "Hereward...he was all of that in one blighted sodding package. The sort of shem who would raze the alienage to...to cull the herd, who would kidnap girls on their wedding day to rape and murder them... And no one cared, because we were just filthy knife-eared vermin... No one ever cared..." She looked up then, her thin face lined with regret. "I have reason enough to hate, and I do. I'm sorry, Cauthrien, I guess I'm not the sort of person you thought I was. If...if you want me to release you from the contract, I will. The Crown will not argue with me on this, and you can have passage to anywhere you like. I shan't force you to serve with me if you can't stand to. "

In the dim light, Tabris looked barely old than the girl they had rescued and just as vulnerable.

She owed no allegiance and had sworn no oaths, but every instinct demanded that she stay, to serve and to protect this woman who trusted her when no others had. Twice now, she had turned aside and walked away, first at Ostagar and then at the Landsmeet chamber, and each time, she gave up the duty and honor that she had held so dear. Her honor was gone now, her reputation in tatters, and she was but a hollow shell of her former self. But none of it mattered to the young woman who offered her the first hope she'd had since the beginning of the war. She could not, would not, walk away a third time.

This, then, was her restitution and her atonement. She could not save nor stop her lord from falling into madness, but perhaps she could save Tabris.

"You forget whom I served and what I've seen good men do," Cauthrien said with a thin hard smile. "It's good to know that you're merely mortal after all and not some unstoppable force of nature. No, Warden, you'll have to try harder than that to make me leave."

"Thank you, ser knight," Tabris said. "I'm glad to have you with me."

The use of her old rank did not sting so much this time, not when the relief in Tabris's voice was palpable. Cauthrien hesitated for a moment, and then placed her hand on Tabris's. "At your service, milady."

Time stood still as she basked in the elven woman's delighted smile, but the moment did not last.

"Milady Warden?" the approach of the sergeant broke the spell. "If you've the time to spare."

"Yes, Beren, what it is?" Tabris rose with a sigh.

"These folk were wondering if you were planning to stay, you see," the sergeant glanced at Cauthrien warily. "Yer companion there is making them a tad nervous."

"So I see," Tabris rubbed her temples and glared at the man. "Never mind that the raiders would not have been defeated without her aid. But life is never fair, is it? No, sergeant, I'd planned to return to Amaranthine for the night, so they need not worry."

"Good to hear, milady," Beren nodded. "Another thing. That little kn...child...will you be taking her with you?"

"Or am I leaving her here with these welcoming folk?" Tabris rolled her eyes. "I'm not blind, sergeant. No one here wants an elven foundling. The child will come with me as my ward. We'll leave as soon as possible, to not further offend the delicate sensibilities of these good folk."

"Very well then, milady," the sergeant left with what remained of his dignity.

"Well, that went better than expected," Tabris muttered under her breath and then turned to Cauthrien. "Come, let's not stay where we're not wanted."

* * *

They returned to Amaranthine by nightfall with the elven child clinging to Tabris like a limpet, and the next afternoon found them on the final stretch of road to Vigil's Keep. Early storms and the melting snow turned the road into a lake of mud. The land was a muddle of browns and greys, bare earth and dried husks of the previous year's growth with heavy storm clouds above, but here and there, bright new shoots peek out from the mud. In the distance, the black outline of the keep rose up against the leaden grey clouds. Drakonis was half past already and soon it would be Summerday.

Two years, almost to the day, since her betrayal at Ostagar, and now here she was, about to join the very order she had condemned to die.

Tabris left her at the gate, and it was the senechal who escorted her inside. The keep and the throne room were much as she remembered from when Rendon Howe ruled Amaranthine but with more swords and steel and less fawning noble sycophants. The room was empty now in preparation for the Joining. Cauthrien resisted the urge to pace as she waited for the ritual to begin. She had only heard of it in old tales and whispered gossip after the Landsmeet. Certainly Tabris had made no mention of it in their short time together. All she knew was that her lord survived it when no one expected him to. The minutes ticked by.

The heavy oaken doors opened, and Tabris entered, flanked by two men, one in the robes of a Circle mage and the other with the features of a Howe. The door closed behind them with a dull echoing thud. In the mage's hands was an ornate silver chalice bearing the crest of the Grey Wardens.

"Cauthrien," Tabris nodded. "Permit me to introduce you to Nathaniel Howe, my second, and Anders, late of the Ferelden Circle and the resident healer. They will witness this Joining. Shall we proceed?"

"Yes," Cauthrien said. "I am ready, Warden."

"Not all who undertake the Joining survive, and those who do are forever changed. Do you accept, knowing you may die in the attempt?"

"Yes."

"We only say a few words before the Joining, but they have been said since the first," Tabris favored her with a slight smile. "Join us, sister. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you"

Anders stepped forward and offered her the silver goblet.

She drank. The black viscous fluid burned her mouth and throat, thick and acrid and bitter with an overlaying coppery tang of blood. She did not know what was in it and did not want to. Pain tore through her, driving her to her knees. She bit her tongue as to not scream. Her vision blurred, the edges fading to black, and her world began to shrink. She reached out with shaking hands, trying to grasp for something, anything, to make it stop. Dear Maker, it hurt, worse than anything she had ever felt before. She wanted the pain to end and knew that it would if only she would give in to it and stop fighting. She couldn't die yet, not with so many sins on her soul, so she fought the pain and endured it as best she could. When she thought she could fight no longer, when she was at the end of her strength, the pain faded, leaving her gasping for breath. Cauthrien found herself on hands and knees on the cold floor. Bright red blood dripped from her mouth and splattered on the smooth stones. A fresh burst of pain in her mouth told her she had bitten through her tongue. She struggled to stand and gasped as gentle hands helped her to her feet. Tabris was next to her, carefully wiping away the blood on her face and smiling at her before catching her in an warm and unexpected embrace.

"Welcome, sister," Tabris said softly. "Welcome to Vigil's Keep."


End file.
